


Ten Days

by TheSanguineRose



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Crying During Sex, Hand Jobs, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Male Apprentice (The Arcana), Orgasm Delay/Denial, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-28
Updated: 2019-11-28
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:06:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21588832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSanguineRose/pseuds/TheSanguineRose
Summary: "How many days has it been since I let you come last? Have you kept track?" Rory asks casually. His hand wanders just as casually, scratching lightly through the hair on Julian's chest, pointedly ignoring how it makes him squirm."Hnng," Julian says. His hands clench and release. He blinks blearily up into Rory's expectant, unwavering gaze. He shivers, he swallows, then he says, "T-ten days."
Relationships: Apprentice/Julian Devorak
Comments: 5
Kudos: 118





	Ten Days

**Author's Note:**

> Because it's always fun to see Julian tied up and begging, isn't it? Hooray :)

"Are you close?"

Julian doesn't respond - can't respond, really. He's too focused on the languid movements of Rory's hand on his cock, the ache in his arms and legs as the ropes keep him taut across their bed.

"Julian?" 

When he still doesn't respond, voice locked somewhere in his throat, the hand stills. The warmth leaves him and Julian huffs, gasps, arches his hips as far as he can, fucking into air.

He's immediately pressed down back to the bed, oil slicked fingers rubbing little circles on the juts of his hips. They tease closer to his cock, then flit away. On a regular day, the feeling of Rory's hands would calm him, but today they make his already arousal torched skin feel raw. He jerks, gasps again, desperate for some kind of relief.

"I will take that as a 'yes, my love, I'm very close, please don't stop'," Rory adopts a facsimile of Julian's deep timbre, a smile on his lips. 

Julian tries to catch his breath in the meantime, glancing down to Rory, who is perched neatly at his side, looking the picture of composure. His hair is neatly tied back into the braid Julian had done up for him earlier that morning, any flyaways tucked behind his ears. His vest is completely buttoned over his gauzy white shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He hadn’t undressed before dragging Julian up the stairs. Yes, Julian had walked in the door after a long day of saving lives, and before he could even say hello, Rory was on him, all lips and teeth and wandering hands, gazing up at him with mischief in his eyes.

And so now Julian is here, unsure of exactly how much time has passed, but he also hasn't been able to string together a coherent thought for about an hour.

He lets his head drop back onto the pillow, eyes closing. The bed dips next to him as Rory adjusts himself, and then Julian’s eyes shoot open as Rory takes him in hand again, a loose circle around his base to keep him upright. Rory regards him, not moving his hand, just letting his eyes rave over the shaft, hunger piercing through the seemingly calm facade he's put up. Julian knows him well enough to see when Rory is focusing his magic to keep himself cool - keep his face from flushing in embarrassment when they do this. He misses the flush, though, how it spreads so gradually over Rory's shoulders, crawls its way down past his chest.

No, he looks calm - annoyingly put together, even as he leans over to smack a chaste kiss at the head of his cock.

"Oh, please," Julian whines as Rory pulls back, the ring of his fingers barely touching his skin. "Please, please."

"Please what, Julian?" The fingers loosen more if possible, before disappearing entirely again.

‘Touch me,’ he wants to say, cry out to the heavens. ‘Touch me, fuck me, use me--” There’s all manner of things he could say please for. He settles on one, though it takes some effort to squeeze the words out.

“Ple-ase,” he groans, dragging out the vowels. The rest comes out when he exhales next, an afterthought, “Touch me again.”

Rory just hums in response, trailing his index finger up the length of him, so light that Julian might not have known he was being touched had he not been looking at it. He feels himself twitch, watches as his head bobs, searching for the relief of Rory's fingers.

Distantly, a bell jingles.

Rory freezes, his hands hovering, fingertips brushing Julian's shaft. Immediately, the facade he’s put in place crumbles. His eyes widen, his mouth opens, closes, and then he whispers, "I forgot to close up!" His lips twitch, then he takes a deep breath to compose himself. He pulls away, almost too quickly, and stands, feverishly searching through the mess on their side table.

Julian whines again, a pitiful sound that cracks as it leaves his throat.

Hiding a laugh - a hysterical, nervous laugh, Rory shushes him. He calls out over his shoulder to the unsuspecting customer, "Just a moment!"

When he turns back to Julian, he gives him a bashful smile.

"Be patient - I'll be right back," he says, finally finding what he was looking for - a clean rag. He wipes the oil from his hands and dashes to the sink the wash the residue from his fingers before he hops down the stairs, leaving Julian alone.

It gives him a moment to come back to himself, at least. He focuses on his breathing - every sound seems louder in this state, from the racing of his heartbeat to Rory's voice, high, and kind, and apologetic, “We’re closed for the day...Yes, I know, I’m so sorry, I know the lantern was on - I’m not sure where my head is today.”

He waits, he breathes, he listens.

The door opening, then closing. A pause and a shifting of metal - the lock?

And then Julian hears Rory's footsteps - one...two...three...four - and if he had the breath for it, he would laugh. The stairs are taken two at a time and then there's a small thunk as Rory likely trips over his own feet on the landing. A fondness breaks through the arousal that flows through him, and he can't help but smile when Rory returns, flyaways scattered around his face.

"Crisis averted! Shop officially closed," Rory says, panting as if he's the one that's been tied to the bed for however long. He gives Julian a once over from across the room, then slowly makes his way over.

"How are your limbs?" He asks, and clears his throat, his nimble fingers undoing the clasps on his vest. When Julian flexes his fingers and toes, Rory nods, satisfied, and he tosses the vest into the corner. The boots are next, but he remains fully clothed otherwise.

"No tingles? Ropes aren't too tight? Too loose?"

"Nuh--,"Julian clears his throat. "No, they're fine."

“Good, good,” Rory says, grinning ear to ear as he stops at the foot of the bed. “I just wanted to check.”

Julian notes with no small amount of pleasure that whatever kept Rory's flush away has worn off, pink covering his newly exposed neck.

"Hmmm, I could look at you for ages, like this," Rory whispers, his hand falling to rest on Julian's ankle. “All spread out for me, looking so beautiful.” Julian feels himself shiver at the praise, tugging his lip between his teeth as Rory’s fingers fiddle with the rope connecting Julian’s leg to the bedpost. He looks down, thoughtful as he runs his fingers over the knots. His fingers still fiddling, he looks up.

As his eyes meet Julian's, he walks around the side again, sitting himself higher on the bed.

"Ropes aside, you’re feeling okay?" He asks, and pushes sweat drenched hair from Julian's forehead. Even that touch sends Julian somewhere, a shaky sigh leaving his mouth as his eyes close. He presses into the touch, licks his lips and nods.

"I'm perfect," he says, and sighs again when Rory's fingers trail down his face to catch his chin. His other hand falls upon Julian's chest, over the rapid-steady thunk thunk thunk of his heart, and then he leans down and kisses Julian soundly, his tongue sweeping past the seam of his lips. Julian groans, arches, follows Rory's mouth even when he starts to pull away. When he does pull away, fully, Julian chases the taste of him, but Rory just chuckles at him and glances down the bed.

"How many days has it been since I let you come last? Have you kept track?" He asks casually. His hand wanders just as casually, scratching lightly through the hair on Julian's chest, pointedly ignoring how it makes him squirm.

"Hnng," Julian says. His hands clench and release. He blinks blearily up into Rory's expectant, unwavering gaze. He shivers, he swallows, then he says, "T-ten days."

Ten days - certainly not the longest he’d gone, but it feels like more with the relentless teasing Rory had inflicted upon him. Days upon days of touches across his back, kisses against the sensitive skin of his neck, hands wandering over thighs in the comfort of their bed.

And now, left hard as he has been, Julian thinks ten days might as well be an eternity.

"Ten days? Oh, my sweet," Rory almost sounds apologetic, but the sudden tug on Julian's nipple says otherwise. Rory ignores the cry that Julian lets out, instead clicking his tongue at him.

"I wish you'd said something. I was going to let you come after a week, since you'd been so good for me." His fingers pinch again at Julian's nipple, sharp and quick. "You're so much better at mathematics than I am."

"Not - not technically mathematics," Julian gasps as Rory's head lowers to follow his hand, taking the nub between his teeth gently. The tip of his tongue swipes once, then twice, and Julian cries out, "It's just counting! Fuck!"

Rory bites harder, then glances once at Julian’s face. "Then I suppose I can't count either.”

Julian strains against the ropes as Rory sits back up, his eyes flickering between Julian’s nipples and his cock, his lips pursed in thought. Suddenly, he stands, wandering to the foot of the bed again. He paces for a moment, then crawls back up, settling between Julian’s legs. With a flick of his wrist, the jar of oil zips to his hand, a single trail sloshing over the side. As he coats his hands again, Julian thrusts up unconsciously.

“Eager thing, aren’t you? Here I am thinking about how good you’ve been for me, how patient, how careful,” Rory sighs as he places the oil carefully to his side. The smirk on his face is the only warning Julian gets before the heat surrounds him again, Rory’s fingers wrap around him in a loose circle - warm and wet and slow. He feels more than hears the yell it pulls from him, a chest rattling cry that startles Rory in turn, and he draws his hand back with a fascinated grin.

“Oh, but I barely touched you!” he giggles, and he’s right. He barely touched him - but even that touch is like fire - is ecstacy - is torture - and when Rory sinks his fist down on him in a tight circle, Julian’s jaw drops in a guttural yell, every muscle straining as he pushes up into the slow pace Rory sets.

And then it’s gone, leaving him heaving and squirming, and he could cry from the frustration of it, even as he babbles incoherently. He isn’t even sure what he’s saying anymore, but it must amuse Rory, who just raises his eyebrows and sinks his fist down again, this time pumping him faster. He feels ice cold - no, searing heat - no, both. Somehow his blood is burning and freezing under his skin, that must be why he can’t stop shaking. He feels like a leaf, precariously hanging on the edge of a branch as the wind threatens to sweep it away. The hot-cold seems to spread through his entire body, then concentrate between his legs, and all he can get out are choked off gasps that make his entire torso twitch.

The hand leaves again, just as Rory says, “Perhaps we should wait...round it up to an even fortnight. It feels wrong to not adhere to a weekly schedule. Don’t you agree?”

At this, Julian feels tears pinprick at at his eyes, and he chokes out a sob. When he clenches his eyes shut against the watery blur, he feels the hot tears wind down into his hairline.

“No, then?”

Julian shakes his head, pulling so hard at the ropes that the bed creaks - shifts - rattles, and Rory has to hold him still.

“Okay, okay,” he breathes. “Tell me what you want.”

Julian doesn’t respond, his throat bobbing.

“Julian. Tell me what you want.”

He tries - he wants to. The words are caught, physically caught, between the muscles in his throat. He works his jaw, opens his mouth, then he swallows thickly. His eyes open, meeting Rory’s, blinking away wetness that sticks to his eyelashes.

“I-I want to come,” he says, hoarse, slow. “P-lease let me come, please?”

Rory bites his lip, cheeks darkening with Julian’s eyes on him, and he squeezes at Julian’s thighs with shaking hands.

“Okay,” he whispers, and wraps his hand around him again. The other moves to press at Julian’s hips, keeping him in place as he strokes him from base to tip. The pace is tortuously slow, so naturally, Julian presses up against the hand holding him down, pleas stemming from his lungs and dying on his lips in whispers of “please, please, please.” The cold-hot from before fills his head, muffling sound and leaving him with a pulsing ringing.

“I know,” he hears, as if through water, and gasps when the pace quickens, slick and easy. “Does that feel good?”

How is he supposed to answer that? Of course it does - of course it doesn’t - don’t stop, but gods it hurts. He whines, hoping his response comes out with some kind of sense, and presses against the hand holding him down, greedy for the fleeting feeling of pleasure against him. The resistance leaves, his cock fucking into Rory’s hand, setting a quicker pace than Rory had.

“There we go, there’s my good boy,” he hears faintly. “You’re going to come so well for me, aren't you?”

He feels his lips move, his mind forms every word for “Yes” that it can muster, but the sounds escape him, so he isn’t entirely sure what variation of “Yes” is coming out of his mouth or in what language. Rory doesn’t seem to mind, though, his hand still pumping him in time with his own hurried thrusts, thumb pressing against his head with each swipe. He repeats whatever it is he’s saying, his voice cresendoes as the freezing heat settles deep between his legs. He feels himself tighten, his limbs pulling the ropes ramrod straight, and all sense leaves him.

Absently, he feels the warmth spread across his stomach and chest, but the immediate relief, the swirling of pleasure-pain in his head, distracts him. He yells, he knows. His throat aches from it - a stuttering roar that will leave him scratchy for days afterward. His back aches, curved into the smirking shape of a crescent moon, and stays there until he’s finished - done - spent. It takes a while, with Rory’s hand easing him through it, squeezing every last drop from him, and when he collapses back onto the bed, he feels himself convulse in short, aching fits.

The wetness and warmth on his face is different, coming instead from waves of tears, brought upon by the sudden current of overstimulation, the full body ache, the exhaustion. So, he cries, shuddering through the aftermath of his orgasm, hiccupping into the air.

He is vaguely aware of the sweet words whispered against his forehead in between kisses across his face. Small, deft fingers wipe the tears and sweat from his cheeks, and then he feels the ropes slacken. First his left arm, which falls akimbo, heavy and utterly useless - then the other. His legs are next, the muscles in his thighs popping from the force of his release. He shivers as a cool, wet cloth shocks against the skin of his chest, wiping away his spend and cooling his skin until it feels almost normal again.

Slowly, he opens his eyes, just in time to see Rory laying down next to him, undressed to his underclothes, and arms open wide. Julian whimpers, allowing himself to be pulled to Rory’s chest, breathing heavy against his sternum.

“You did so well, Julian,” Rory whispers against his head, hands brushing through his hair and scratching gently. “You were so good for me, you looked so beautiful.” and then “God, I love you.”

Julian hiccups as the cries begin to ease, aching arms wrapping around Rory to hold him close. “T-Thank you,” he whispers against his chest, kissing him softly, over and over again. In between, he gasps out, “I love--love you, too.” The hand in his hair hums with magic as it pulls the moisture of sweat and tears from the strands, leaving it comfortably warm and dry.

“Hmm, baby, sit up, just a little for me?” Rory whispers. Julian tries, his limbs still heavy, and manages to shift up until his head rests on Rory’s shoulder. This is good enough, it seems, as Rory holds up a mug in front of their faces. It’s an offering - and when Julian nods, Rory motions for Julian to open his mouth. Rory tips the mug against Julian’s mouth, the water cool and refreshing as it pours down his throat, leaving behind a pleasant tingle as it heals his overused vocal cords.

He can’t drink it down fast enough, to the point where Rory has to pull the mug from his face with a snort. Embarrassed, Julian clears his throat and nuzzles Rory’s neck, placing a myriad of kisses upon it.

“Thank you,” he says again, muffled by the skin under his lips.

“Mmm, you’re very welcome,” Rory breathes, fingers trailing up and down Julian’s back. “I am sorry I can’t count, though.”

“Wait,” Julian lifts his head, narrowing his eyes. “I thought, uh, I thought that was part of it.”

“No,” Rory smiles sheepishly. “I really did lose track. My bad.”

Julian shakes his head, curls a hand around his jaw, and pulls him in for a kiss, one that makes his chest ache with affection. He laughs against his mouth, a short bark that vibrates through their lips. Rory pulls away, still bashful, and kisses the tip of Julian’s nose, then his cheek, his chin - God, but Julian feels close to bursting.

“I love you,” he says, the only way he can think to alleviate the pressure in his chest, and it works, especially when Rory says back, bashful smile growing into a cheshire grin, “I love you, too.”

**Author's Note:**

> Find my gay ass on [ tumblr](http://thesanguinerose.tumblr.com) and [ twitter](https://twitter.com/thesanguinerose)! [dab]


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